


into the chamber of the beast

by Piehead



Series: The Beast’s Conquests [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bitty enjoys that, Come Swallowing, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Fingerfucking, Insatiable Eric "Bitty" Bittle, Jack lets others fuck Bitty, M/M, Morning Sex, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Polyamorous relationship, Pool Ball used as plug, Riding, Rough Oral Sex, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piehead/pseuds/Piehead
Summary: Jack's going out of town, but he won't leave Bitty alone for the weekend. He asks Tater to take care of his boyfriend.





	into the chamber of the beast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenreyamidala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenreyamidala/gifts).



> I was given a mighty prize for writing this. It's over 6k of absolute filth because sometimes I'm horny just enough to write more porn than needed for a rarepair.
> 
> Enjoy!

Tater is half asleep when Jack says, “Would you keep Bitty company this weekend?”

It’s the kind of statement that seems innocuous at first, because of course Jack would want someone giving his boyfriend companionship; he’s so caring and loyal that the idea of Bitty being alone is one he’d balk at. Tater’s response is a non-committal sort of  _ hmm _ because his brain is too tired from their game to fully process what’s being said to him right now. He does, though, wind up thinking about Little B, a ray of sunshine, smiling and offering him pie.

“Only if you want to. He’s too shy to say it, but he really wants you to fuck him,” Jack continues, still looking through tape, as if he hadn’t just said something that Tater has been thinking about since the first pie.

Tater thinks he’s dreaming, so he responds with, “Yes, of course, anything for Little B and Zimmboni.”

Jack smiles like Tater’s promised him a hat trick and then tells him, “Great. Bits will let you in.”

Bitty, for his part, at least looks surprised when Jack tells him over skype that Friday.

“You’re not gonna be home? Then, honey, why am I packing anything?” he asks, looking dejected and exasperated. It breaks Jack’s heart a little to see that expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“I’m just visiting my parents. They’ve been asking and I figured this was as good a weekend as any. Don’t worry,” Jack speaks a bit quickly, when he gets something of an accusatory glare, “I had something else in mind for you. Tater’s gonna keep you company.”

Bitty drops the shirt he had been folding and looks back at the laptop with wild eyes, his face slowly taking on a shade of red that could match the red in his jersey.

“You—Tater’s gonna—honey,  _ what?” _

“Remember the first time you met Tater? I saw that look in your eyes.” Jack smiles now, sly, and Bitty feels like the room is too hot suddenly and his pants are too restricting. Jack’s home alone of course, so he knows what he’s doing. Bitty’s packing is forgotten for the moment and he slides into bed, already undoing his belt buckle.

“Oh, sweetpea, you didn’t,” he half says half moans, his fingers already inching into his pants.

“Tater said yes. Why should I leave you alone when there’s a half dozen hockey players dying to get their hands on you?” Jack’s voice is little more than a breathy whisper and Bitty scrambles to put his headphones in, because now he just needs that voice inching him towards orgasm.

Later that night, when Jack’s hung up, Bitty finishes his packing. He glances through his closet, wonders what he should wear for  _ Tater, _ and spies the Mashkov jersey Jack bought for him “on a whim” just a few days after their first meeting. Now, Bitty sees it for what it really is.

Jack would describe his smile as predatory, when Bitty got that look on his face.

#########

Tater’s just getting off the treadmill when he sees a notification at the top of his phone.

Zimmboni: Don’t forget to clean up after yourself. Bits is picky about being sticky. Hey, that rhymed.

He’s wracking his brain to try to figure out what Jack is referring to when the next text message comes through.

Zimmboni: My flight’s boarding but take pictures for me. I wanna see what he looks like stretched around you.

Both of Tater’s brains kickstart after he reads the second one. He bids his gym partners farewell in a hasty manner as he packs up, the time reading 6:13pm. Bitty was probably already waiting for him—he needed to hurry.

One last text shoots through right as Tater is getting into his Uber.

Zimmboni: Be careful if you wind up in the kitchen. I haven’t had a chance to fix that wobbly leg on the table.

The door to the apartment opens after Tater’s second knock. He’s still a bit sweaty from his workout but it seems to him like it shouldn’t really matter. Especially when he sees what’s hiding behind the door as it opens.

“You know, Mr. Mashkov, it’s really not polite to leave someone waitin’,” Bitty says from the other side.

In all his years, Alexei Mashkov has never seen a puck bunny look nearly as good as Eric Bittle does in that moment. He’s wearing the  _ tiniest _ shorts Tater has ever seen, accentuating his ass in a way that makes Tater just want to hold it. He’s got midriff showing after tying back a jersey with a giant “7” on the front. It doesn’t take much for Tater to figure out just what Bitty’s wearing. He steps through the doorway and into Bitty’s space and the door shuts soundly behind them.

“Little B, where did you get a jersey like this?” he asked, his hands coming up to rest at Bitty’s waist.

Bitty has the mind to turn his eyes down, looking shy, his mind racing with Tater’s hands wrapping nearly all the way around his hips. He steps closer, their bodies aligning as Bitty brings his hands up against Tater’s chest. His head tilts back so he can look Tater in the eye, his smile coy now. He looks like a treat, good enough to eat, wrapped up in a Mashkov bow. Tater could just… lean down…

“Come on, Mister Hockey Player, there’s pie,” Bitty says now, pushing away. Tater’s hands fall away from Bitty’s hips, while eyes hungry for something more sweet than any pie follow after Bitty towards the kitchen.

Tater drops his gym bag and goes along, wondering if he could get that pie a la mode.

“You know, Jack’s never got time to teach me pool these days, but I know you’re good at it,” Bitty says, moments later, when Tater’s got blueberry pie in hand (his favourite, of course, because Little B is so kind and considerate).

“Mhmm. I could show you,” Tater agrees. He takes a forkful of pie and savors it, watching as Bitty saunters away from the kitchen towards the pool table.

“I just need a few pointers, Tater, nothing intense.”

Bitty grabbed a pool cue and then reached wide over the table for the cue ball. Tater leaned a bit to get a good long look at Bitty’s calves, thighs, and his shapely behind. When Bitty stood straight again, the tied part of his shirt had come undone and it fell down to where it actually rested, around his thighs. Tater thought he looked good in a Mashkov jersey, the blue and white pretty against Bitty’s pink skin.

Tater stood, his pie forgotten on the table, and came around to stand behind Bitty. Bitty glanced back and then leaned over the pool table again, getting into position with the pool cue. Tater clucks his tongue, shaking his head as he leans in as well, grabbing Bitty’s hands and slotting their bodies together almost perfectly.

“No no, Little B, your form is wrong. Let me adjust,” Tater offers. His hands cover Bitty’s perfectly, and his dick just so happens to fit right against Bitty’s ass as if it were made to be there.

“Oh! Mister Mashkov, there shouldn’t be any pool balls in your pocket,” Bitty says, wiggling his hips and grinding back into the feeling.

Tater doesn’t even respond, choosing instead to move his hands and hoist Bitty up onto the table. The second Bitty is facing him they’re kissing, Tater’s mouth hungry and his tongue searching. Bitty opens up for him nice and pretty, like a piece of pie made to be eaten by Tater and only Tater. Bitty moans and wraps his arms around Tater’s neck, legs following suit around Tater’s waist. One of Tater’s arms came around Bitty’s back to ease him down to the pool table, the shirt bunching about at Bitty’s hips.

Tater pulls back enough for the two of them to breathe and to leave kisses down Bitty’s neck. His hands pushed the jersey up further, wanting to get at as much skin as possible. Bitty makes another noise, soft in the back of his throat, rolls his hips to get more friction. Tater leans back the slightest bit more to move Bitty’s arms, pinning them against the table.

“Stay here, Eric,” Tater says, his voice a low growl. Bitty makes a pitiful noise now, squirming but otherwise staying still.

“Don’t leave me waitin’ and wantin’, darlin’,” he whines. Tater leans down and pecks Bitty’s lips, giving him a smile.

“Would never,” Tater promises. His hands slip to Bitty’s hips, pulling the shorts over Bitty’s ass. He needs to step back to get them over Bitty’s legs, but with the grip Bitty has on him Tater knows he has to remove them later. For now, he goes with the next best thing.

“Oh!” Bitty gasps when Tater’s fingers wrap around his own cock, making Bitty shiver from just the feeling. “Oh, oh,  _ Tater, _ there’s—lube in my pocket!”

Tater hums, a sly smile creeping onto his face. “Oh, B, prepared just for me?”

Bitty glares but it’s got no heat behind it. He jerks his hips, fucking up into Tater’s hand to get more friction and catching Tater off guard. Tater barks a laugh, scaring Bitty before he starts giggling too. They’re both in a fit of laughter for a moment before Tater comes back around to what they’re doing. He uses his other hand to slip his fingers into Bitty’s tight, tight, shorts and pulls out several packets of lube. Bitty must have guessed they’d be at this for a while, likely in more than one location.

“You walk around like this for Zimmboni? I bet he keep you nice and full, never unsatisfied,” Tater taunts, ripping the pack open with his teeth. The lube spills over his fingers and Tater switches hands. It’s a much easier slide now, with Tater’s fingers working magic over Bitty’s dick.

“You’d be surprised,” Bitty says, another coy smile of his own thrown Tater’s way. He shifts his hips, reminds Tater of a better prize.

“Cheeky, cheeky, Little B!”

Tater let’s go of Bitty and moves his fingers to Bitty’s ass. They slip along Bitty’s hole and without a problem he manages to sink in one, two, three fingers with little resistance. He’s surprised at the ease and looks up at Bitty, whose eyes are closed.

“You open up easy, expecting something a lot bigger than fingers?” Tater asks. Bitty shrugs, eyes still closed.

“I can  _ do  _ more with somethin’ a little bigger,” he mumbles, sighing softly while Tater pushes and pulls his fingers. He looks almost like an angel, sprawled out below Tater the way he is. It’s enough to make Tater’s need rise even higher. It’s little work to get the tiny shorts off of Bitty from there, and then he pulls his fingers out and undoes his own pants, his dick hard and red.

Bitty opens his eyes and cranes his head up to get a look. Tater indulges him; he thrusts between Bitty’s thighs for a comparison, finds himself surprised that Bitty isn’t so much smaller than he is. Bitty smiles and reaches down, only to have his hand roughly pinned to the table again.

“I said, stay there,” Tater reminds him. Bitty’s smile turns into a pout and he lifts his hips, causing friction between them. Tater makes a disapproving noise, shifts back and lets his cock slide between Bitty’s cheeks. He lifts them to give Tater the perfect way in, revels in how easy it is to look pretty and get fucked.

Tater lines himself up and pushes in slowly, easing his way in. Bitty’s hands twist as he’s stretched, the bit of pain mixing with the pleasure that came from being full. Tater had only managed maybe halfway in but Bitty already felt stuffed. Tater’s hips stutter forward just a bit more and Bitty shouts, his head tossed back now. It only takes another sharp thrust for Tater to be fully sheathed inside of Bitty.

“You’re so tight, Little B! Zimmboni must love fucking you like this,” Tater murmurs, leaning down again. He wastes no time, pulls back and gets another good thrust in. Bitty practically screams from the pleasure, arches his back. His arms fly around Tater’s neck, holding Tater as close as he could.

Tater couldn’t even be upset, not with the way Bitty tightens around him as the angle changes. He turns his head into Bitty’s neck, sucking hard to leave a hickey behind Bitty’s ear. Bitty’s heels dig into the small of Tater’s back as Tater readjusts his footing and starts to fuck into Bitty at a steady pace. He’s not gentle about it either; he handles Bitty like a doll that’s made to be used and Bitty absolutely loses it for the attention.

“Tater! God! More!” Bitty yells, every other breath a moan. He sounds like he doesn’t know what to do, like the situation is helpless and all he  _ can _ do is feel.

Tater doesn’t take the request lightly. He grips Bitty’s hips even harder and manages to get deeper on each thrust, rocking the table and likely leaving bruises. He can’t bring himself to slow down his pace now, not when it feels so good. Bitty takes as well as he gives, beautifully, with the kind of love Tater is almost jealous of. Jack needed to share more often.

Bitty lasts another dozen or so thrusts before he goes rigid, clinging hard and contracting around Tater’s cock. He feels the wet slick of cum streaking up their chests through his shirt, Bitty’s mouth falling open on a silent scream. He doesn’t let Tater go even through the aftershocks of the orgasm.

Tater doesn’t falter in his thrusts either. He feels like a man possessed, taking and taking even though he can tell Bitty is oversensitive. Like a leaf, Bitty shakes and quivers as if he’ll blow away in the end at the lightest breeze. Tater thinks he looks absolutely gorgeous and it’s that sight that does him in.

Tater’s not a small man by any means and he’s completely aware of that fact. When he cums, it’s in the same magnitude. Bitty’s ass sucks him in and almost doesn’t want to let go. It leads Tater to manage another three thrusts before he’s cumming too. He fills Bitty up even more with that, before his full weight collapses on top of Bitty.

They stay like that for a while, just breathing, trying to regain enough consciousness to move once more.

_ He’s picky about being sticky. _

The text message from Jack comes to Tater’s mind and the Russian man finally sits up. He looks down at Bitty, looking thoroughly wrecked, covered in his own smeared cum, still completely impaled by Tater’s massive dick. Tater gives his hips a tug and is surprised to see the way Bitty’s cock twitches at the movement. Remembering Jack’s other text message, Tater pulls out his phone and starts recording.

“You still want more, Little B? So greedy,” he says. Bitty opens his eyes and gives Tater something of a glare, before he notices the camera.

“S’that for Jack?” he asks, his voice low. Tater nods. A bashful smile crosses Bitty’s lips and he reaches down to grab his legs and spread them a bit further, giving the camera a full shot of his asshole still clinging to Tater’s dick and his own showing interest once again. Tater never would have guessed that Bitty was into being filmed like this.

“Whoa there! Zimmboni, you have such pretty little slut here, I’m hoping you keep him satisfied,” Tater whistles.

“Jack does what he can for me,” Bitty purrs, intent clear in the way he flexes and clamps down on Tater further. Tater doesn’t think he can get it up again, not just yet, but he looks around and spies the pool balls again.

“Here, Little B, we’ll plug you and go shower.”

The offer is generous and Bitty nods, letting his knees go. He blinks a little too long and Tater reaches over him to grab the eight ball—of course. Slowly, trying not to disrupt Bitty too much, Tater pulls himself out. Bitty’s hole is clingy like a needy lover and doesn’t seem to want to let go. Tater clucks his tongue again, like he did earlier, and then manages to pull out all the way. Bitty looks shy now, like he wants to close his legs and hide.

Tater manages to maneuver what’s left from the packet of lube onto the eight ball and presses it against Bitty’s entrance. Bitty realizes what’s about to happen and struggles to sit up enough to look Tater in the eye.

“Alexei Mashkov, you better n— _ ahhh!” _ Bitty’s threat is cut off by a long moan as Tater pushes the eight ball in. It slides right up against Bitty’s prostate and he finds himself cumming again without being touched. Bitty falls back against the table, absolutely quivering. Tater grins and zooms in with the camera.

“He take everything this well?” he asks, just before shutting the camera off. The video is sent to Jack in two swipes of Tater’s thumb, without even needing to type out Jack’s name.

“Come on, Little B, I carry you to shower.”

#########

The bathroom is definitely big enough to house the both of them. Tater is a bit impressed with the layout; a large tub big enough to fit probably four or five people and a standing shower that would likely max out at three,  _ comfortably. _ Tater figures they’ll have enough time to get in the tub later on, but for now a shower seems like the better choice.

Bitty is holding onto him like a baby koala, his grip with his arms and legs tight even though Tater is holding him at the waist. His ass is cupped perfectly by Tater’s hands and Tater is already making plans in his mind to get his tongue on Bitty later on. It’d be a pleasure for Tater to rim him and Tater didn’t see any reason to pass up that opportunity.

Without much work Tater maneuvered them out of their clothes (mourning the loss of that Mashkov jersey for now) and then he stood Bitty back on his feet in the shower. Bitty squirms now and then, his legs rubbing together, and Tater spies the smear on his shirt where Bitty had leaked onto it a bit, still reeling from the aftershocks of pleasure due to the ball keeping him plugged.

“Gonna turn the water on now, Bitty,” Tater warns, just before the spray hits them both. Bitty doesn’t even flinch, instead he leans against the wall facing away from Tater and tosses a look over his shoulder.

“You put it in there—take it out,” he orders. Tater feels a stirring inside himself at being told what to do, his dick deciding that  _ that _ was what was going to get him up again.

Tater kneels, gets close enough to get a good look at Bitty’s hole, spreads Bitty’s cheeks wide and sees his handiwork. Bitty makes a tiny noise above him that’s nearly drowned out by the sound of the water when Tater’s fingers breach him again. There’s still no resistance, either, because Tater can get three of his appendages in with no problems.

The eight ball is slippery and a bit tricky to get a hold of but eventually Tater manages to coax it out. Bitty bears down enough for Tater to get a good grip on it and then Bitty’s got nothing keeping him plugged. A mixture of lube and cum drips out of Bitty’s hole, the sight absolutely getting to Tater immediately. He wants to see Bitty gape for him, needs to see the physical reminder that Bitty took his dick.

His fingers plunge back in but now it’s to clean Bitty out. Bitty shakes and sighs like Tater’s fucking him in earnest, too excited and overly sensitive to do much more than feel. Tater spreads his fingers and watches his cum ooze out of Bitty in globs, almost wants to lick it up and feed it to Bitty in a kiss. He’ll save that idea for later too.

Tater stands once more and turns Bitty around so that they’re face to face. Bitty’s cock is standing again, albeit a bit weakly. He thinks maybe he should give Bitty a break, but then there are those small and nimble hands maneuvering Tater’s back down to the curve of Bitty’s ass, and then Tater’s starting to think there’s a reason Jack’s stamina has been better at practice.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re tired,” Bitty says, having regained a bit of energy, “or should I call Jack and tell him you’re ready to go home, and to send someone else my way?”

Tater thinks about anyone else doing this; Snowy, or Poots, or Marty, or Thirdy. The idea is so…  _ appealing _ that Tater almost wants Bitty to call anyone else. He wants to see Bitty spread out between so many of his other teammates, kind of needs to see if Bitty can take more than one cock.

A larger part, though, reminds Tater that he’s lucky Jack chose him. It’s enough to make Tater forget anything else, for now, about any of his other teammates having a turn. The next he knows he’s hoisting Bitty up and lining himself up at Bitty’s hole again.

“That’s it,” Bitty sighs, arms wrapped around Tater’s neck. He sinks down onto Tater’s dick nice and easy, like his body was made to take it. Tater wishes he could fuck Bitty like this  _ all _ the time.

#########

When they’re cleaned up and dressed from their shower, Bitty heats up dinner. He’d made it when he got in from Samwell that afternoon, a simple pasta loaded with meats and vegetables. Tater eats a large portion before Bitty can coax him over to the couch, where they turn on the TV and flip through a few channels.

“Not hungry?” Tater asks, when he sees Bitty settle into the couch without a plate of food.

Bitty shakes his head, “I ate earlier. I’ll be fine for a while.”

Tater thinks that sounds a little odd, but then the channel lands on Jeopardy reruns, and his investment is suddenly in trivia. He and Bitty play along all the way up until Final Jeopardy. That’s when Tater’s suspicious feeling creeps back up, because Bitty has slowly inched closer until he was right at Tater’s side, almost in his lap. They’re just getting the Final Jeopardy answer when Tater feels a hand sneaking up his thigh.

Bitty, at least, looks like he’s apologetic when he reaches into Tater’s pants. Tater’s finished his dinner already and places the bowl on the coffee table. Bitty looks pleased as he does so, noticing that the bowl is completely empty.

“May I have a treat before dessert?” Bitty asks, batting his lashes as if he were some southern belle asking his host for a glass of cold water.

Tater wants to know what else Bitty could possibly do for him and agrees without another word. Bitty smiles and it’s like looking at the sun, bright and beautiful. Tater almost feels bad about what that mouth is about to do.

“Mister Mashkov, how on  _ earth _ did you fit this in me?” Bitty gasps when he’s finally got Tater’s dick free. Tater shrugs one shoulder, puts a hand on the back of Bitty’s head.

“You open up nicely. Feels like coming home,” Tater says. Bitty blushes, as if he’s just been told by a world class chef that nothing could beat his pies.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, hun,” he finally states, just before his tongue flicks out to graze the tip of Tater’s cock.

Tater can already feel his dick getting hard again, as if he hadn’t just fucked Bitty twice in the last hour. Bitty’s smaller hands work magic getting him back up, and before long, Tater’s penis is red and standing at attention. Bitty’s tongue nimbly works about the head, tasting Tater’s natural musk. He moans in the back of his throat as he does so.

Tater urges Bitty to get a better taste, has to keep his hips still to try not to poke Bitty’s eye out. Bitty doesn’t seem to notice the amount of restraint Tater’s showing but he also doesn’t really hesitate to get the tip of Tater’s dick in his mouth and—

“Goodness, Little B, you’re trying to kill me!”

—sink straight to the bottom. He stays there for a bit as well, his nose buried in the bed of curls at the base of Tater’s penis and then he swallows, doesn’t even come up for air. Tater’s eyes close against the feeling, trying to fully wrap his mind around the fact that Eric Bittle could deep throat him like some practiced slut. He’s almost afraid he’ll cum just from  _ that. _

Bitty pulls up to take a breath and then he brings his hands up Tater’s. His tongue strokes the underside like he’s just enjoying a midday treat. From Tater’s hands Bitty moves his own to give Tater’s hip a tap. It takes a second for Tater to realize just what Bitty is telling him to do.

_ Fuck me. _

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Tater’s hips move before he’s fully aware, and the next he knows Bitty is making the cutest choked off noises while Tater fucks his face like he’s some kind of flesh light.

_ Better than any toy, _ Tater’s mind reminds him, when Bitty manages to glance up through his lashes, eyes teary and cheeks red and ruddy. Tater can’t help the way he loses himself in the feeling of Bitty’s throat, finds himself shocked by the way he takes without once checking to see if Bitty needs him to slow down.

For his part, Bitty seems content to be used like this, keeping his throat relaxed and taking in stuttered breaths between forceful thrusts. Tater’s hips move like a piston, fucking without abandon and edging Tater closer and closer to orgasm.

Bitty’s nimble fingers maneuver a bit further down, collecting some of the spit that’s accumulated and dripping down Tater’s sack. He’s only guessing at what reaction he’ll receive from what he wants to do but Bitty is nothing if not someone who will try anything once.

“Fuck!” Tater curses when he feels the finger breach him, catching him by surprise even as it curls and gently massages his prostate. His orgasm catches him off guard from there, his dick buried so deep in Bitty’s throat Tater isn’t entirely sure he’ll ever get it back. And Bitty still swallows, drinks every drop of cum that Tater has to give him.

He has to smack Tater’s thigh to be allowed up to breathe again and he is  _ quite _ the sight. Tater’s upset he didn’t take a picture of Bitty sucking his cock down, but he does fumble his phone out to take a good picture of Bitty now; lips red and swollen, the tiniest bit of cum trailing down from them, cheeks aglow, eyelids at half mast with his pupils blown wide.

Tater sends that one off with a short text that says,  _ Why didn't you tell me he suck cock so good? _

A smiley face emoji shows up immediately after and Bitty perks up a bit at the sound of the notification coming in.

“Oh, did he like that one?” He asks. Tater nods and flips his phone around to show Bitty the reaction. Bitty spies the picture and his cheeks turn darker.

“Can’t believe that’s me! I look like a downright  _ whore,” _ Bitty groans.

He looks like he wants to be embarrassed but Tater can see how hard he is in his loose shorts. They’re tented so much Tater thinks they might as well not be there. Come to think of it, Tater doesn’t think Bitty put on any underwear after their shower.

“Come here,” Tater beckons, because he’s a gentleman and a wonderful partner. Bitty squirms but moves over so that he’s in Tater’s space again, in Tater’s lap. Tater reaches down and yanks the tiny shorts aside to get at Bitty’s hole with his fingers again.

Bitty seems to like the idea Tater has, because he rides Tater’s fingers like they’re his massive dick with ease. Tater thinks he should be worried about a sprained hand only until Bitty kisses him and then he’s certain he’d let Bitty rob a bank and use his name if it meant keeping him satisfied.

Bitty grinds with purpose, even reaches down to readjust Tater’s hands to get at his sweet spot better. Tater’s other hand roams up Bitty’s side to his chest, gives one of his perky nipples a pinch. Bitty seizes from that one action, whole body going rigid as he cums again. Tater files the information he’s just gained away in his mind, reminding himself to experiment with making Bitty cum just from having his nipples abused.

Bitty collapses against Tater, exhausted now,  _ finally, _ and they stay on the couch like that until Tater’s hand starts to ache from the position its in. He prays to the hockey gods that it isn’t sprained, because he doesn’t know how to explain “had my co-captain’s boyfriend ride my hand because my dick was spent” to the team physician.

“Ready for bed now?” Tater inquires, pulling his fingers out and unceremoniously wiping his hand on the shirt Bitty is wearing. Bitty makes a noise of displeasure as Tater does the action, eyes narrowing a bit.

“Ready  _ after _ I get this shirt off now, since  _ someone _ had to wipe his hand on it!” Bitty says. If it weren’t for the fact that his legs wobble as he stands up, Tater might think Bitty is actually upset with him. But the fact of the matter instead is that Bitty reaches for Tater to stand and support him, because he is way too fucked out (and only on Tater’s  _ fingers!) _ to be able to do much on his own.

Tater takes pity on his smaller companion and carries Bitty into the bedroom. They change clothes again and Tater finds the wipes in the bedside table after a bit of direction. He wipes Bitty down and makes sure Bitty is settled in beneath the sheets before the wipes get tossed into the trash can. Tater slips into the large bed behind Bitty, spooning against him. It’s a comfortable position and Bitty doesn’t complain.

They’re both out within minutes, exhausted.

#########

Tater wakes up to the feeling of weight on top of him. His body seems more awake than his mind, because it takes a short moment for Tater to notice that he’s got a certain someone grinding against him, his own dick already showing quite a bit of interest. Tater opens his eyes and his vision clears enough for him to see Bitty sitting above him, rocking his hips gently, their covered erections pressed firmly together.

“Oh! You’re awake, hun,” Bitty smiles. He leans down and gives Tater a tiny kiss. Tater thinks he wants to savor it, but before he can, Bitty sits back up and Tater spies something in his hand that wasn’t before. Well, two things, actually.

The first is Bitty’s phone. It’s not uncommon for Bitty to be texting or tweeting, Tater knows because Jack talks about the way Bitty’s plugged into social media all the time. He thinks it’s pretty interesting, since he wasn’t always tech savvy himself. It’s not the cellphone that really catches Tater’s attention, though. No, it’s the bottle of  _ lube _ that really makes Tater do something of a double take.

“If you’re still tired you can go back to sleep, I just wanna have a little fun myself,” Bitty says. His boxers are gone in two quick motions Tater barely catches. Then, Tater feels cold air against his hot cock.

Bitty moves with the kind of practiced efficiency that leads Tater to think, yes, this is absolutely why Zimmboni’s stamina has gone up in the last few months. Bitty is positively  _ ruthless _ in his onslaught and Tater registers the slick wet of Bitty’s hand coating him before he has to close his eyes against the sensation of Bitty sliding down onto Tater. There’s a beat where Bitty closes his eyes as well, biting his lip, but then Bitty rocks his hips again.

Tater wonders if this is how he’ll die. But what he expects, a quick and dirty ride from Bitty, isn’t what he gets. Instead, Bitty grabs a tissue to clean his hand and then picks his phone back up. He lazily shifts his hips from time to time, keeping Tater on his toes almost, interspersing the movements with quick, sharp, bounces that make Tater feel weak. If he wasn’t completely conscious before, he surely is now, because he’s all too aware of Bitty surrounding him. Tater didn’t think it could get better.

“Oh my, you should see the texts Jack’s been sendin’ me,” Bitty giggles. Tater wants to ask, but Bitty chooses then to bounce excitedly, thumbs moving fast over his keyboard.

Tater thinks maybe he  _ will _ die today.

“There’s too much happenin’ in this group chat,” Bitty says, mostly to himself. He’s rotating his hips now, in little circles, occupying Tater’s mind. When he stops moving, Tater thinks he might lose it, and he gives his own hips a halfhearted thrust up. It’s worth it to hear the way Bitty gasps at the feeling.

“Now hold on.” Bitty looks down at Tater with lidded eyes again. “I just need to go through my notifications, I’ll be back at it before you know it, hun.”

Tater finds  _ himself  _ making a noise like a whine in his throat. It’s responded to with a gentle pat on his chest and Bitty sitting completely still to go through his phone. Tater wants Bitty to move again, but there’s nothing he’s given for at least ten minutes. Eventually, Tater’s sleepiness comes back and he finds his own eyelids fluttering closed.

He’s asleep for maybe a few minutes more before he hears Bitty yelp in excitement and then Bitty’s bouncing again, harder and faster this time, each motion knocking the breath out of Tater and causing him to come back to full consciousness again like he’s had ice water dumped on him. When he looks up, Bitty isn’t moving anymore, but his thumbs are moving across his phone while his eyes scan in quick motions.

“I just found a recipe for those Russian pies you mentioned! I think you called them vatrushkas? I think I’ve got everythin’ I need for this one, I’m gonna share it!” Bitty says, excitement in his voice, practically vibrating from with the emotion. Tater looks up at Bitty and then his hands creep up from their position at his sides to rest at Bitty’s waist.

“Sorry, Little B, but you really are too much,” Tater apologizes, just before his grip turns bruising and he gets his legs under him enough to fuck up into Bitty.

Bitty shrieks from the sudden sensation, the angle too perfect this time. His sweet spot is abused mercilessly as Tater pounds into him. Bitty holds on at Tater’s wrists, every sharp thrust forcing him to gasp for air on the down stroke and release his breath in loud moans. If Jack had neighbors that could hear through the walls, Tater was sure they’d be banging on the door complaining about the noise.

Bitty collapses forward against Tater’s chest and now Tater’s thrusts just barely graze his prostate, but it’s still enough to have Bitty spurting cum across Tater’s bare chest. His insides start fluttering from the orgasm, making it hard for Tater to pull out too much but easy to grind in and just  _ feel _ the way Bitty’s body is alight for him. There’s only so much more Tater can handle himself, what with the way Bitty clings to him now.

“Come on, Tater.” Bitty breathes between moans against Tater’s neck.  _ “Fill me up.” _

Tater thinks this might be the best one yet. He doesn’t even pull out for another thrust, simply grinds until he’s being milked for all of his cum and then some. Bitty makes a mewling noise against Tater’s neck and Tater feels more wet against his stomach. He’s honestly surprised that Bitty’s managed to cum again in such a short span of time, but Tater also thinks that maybe Bitty was just made of miracles.

They lay together and regain their wits before Bitty’s hands plant against Tater’s chest and help push him up. Tater’s still resting pretty deep inside that velvet warmth, too comfortable to pull out. Above him again, the warm light of the early sun gives Bitty an inhuman glow, making him seem like some otherwordly sex being. His chest heaves a bit with his breathing but otherwise Bitty looks almost as if Tater hadn’t just fucked him within an inch of the next life.  _ Again. _

Bitty gives Tater’s chest a light smack.

“I better not have lost my tweet because of you!”

Tater apologizes and takes note of the fact that Bitty’s hips are twitching again. It’s only Saturday  _ morning _ he realizes. There’s still two full days of this he has to make it through. Somehow, Tater believes he might have gotten just the tiniest bit in over his head. Bitty looks ravenous above him, a true predator.

“Well, I guess I can forgive you. Since there’s more you can still give me to make up for it,  _ right?” _

Tater thinks the answer to that is not one he can give at the moment. They just needed to wait and see.

**Author's Note:**

> me: implies that other people can and will fuck Bitty  
> me: has absolutely no plans to write these other fics (without incentive :smirk:)


End file.
